


Runaways

by cabled



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabled/pseuds/cabled
Summary: My sister's eyes flicker in the light of the dying fire. "Haven't you ever wanted something more?"Something more? Only for someone to see me. Just me.





	Runaways

Before Tabitha becomes a sacred word, my father calls it, sings it, bellows it in anger. I am four years old when my mother dies. Then her name becomes my talisman: _Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha_. Only I must not say it out loud, or Father’s face crumples up like an old dustcloth, and he won’t speak to me for days. I whisper it to the mice so I don’t forget: _Tabitha, Tabitha_.

Six months pass, and Father remarries. She’s a raving witch, a lunatic, a bitch. I learn this word from my new sisters, the twins. They whisper it by the hour, their own talisman: _that bitch, that bitch_. Like Nessie, the floppy-eared Bassett whose pups will become our hunting hounds once they’re weaned. But the twins must be confused, because Belle-mere is no dog. The dog is my father. His sad brown eyes are just like Nessie’s when they take her pups away. He looks so lost, you can’t help but pity him. I wonder if Belle-mere thinks so, too.

At first, the twins take an interest in me. They brush my curls and dress me up and parade me about the gardens. Then they grow bored and stomp on my hair and rip off my clothes. They are always angry at me: I never smile, I never do anything, I think I’m better than they are. And it’s true: I’m quicker, I’m kinder, I can run farther and faster, and my father loves me when he’s not filled up with grief. But I’m jealous because at least they have each other. They know this, and it placates them. I crave their attention, and shrink from it. Hiding from them, I lull myself to sleep repeating my magic word. _Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha._ And it keeps me safe.

When Nessie’s pups are born, I kidnap the runt of the litter and name her Scout. I hug Scout tight to keep her warm and feed her milk so she’ll love me, but something must be wrong with her head. She gets dizzy and makes these little bleating cries, so I kiss and kiss her and rub her warm paws, and repeat to her: _Tabitha, Tabitha_. The next morning, she won’t drink her milk, won’t make a sound. I bury my girl next to Mother and a hand crawls up my throat and curls around my brain and squeezes, and it won’t let go.

One night when I am fifteen, sweeping the soot from the kitchen hearth, I feel someone watching. A twin, a silent shadow split from her double, observes me from the doorway. I bob my head in my typical obsequious curtsy, so familiar that it’s bent into the curve of my back. She watches me rise, not saying a word.

“Good evening, Belle-soeur,” I murmur, fixing my eyes to her slippers. Butter yellow. I’d polished them that morning.

“You are so beautiful,” she says abruptly. “And you know it, you little bitch.”

I only look at her. The twins had often remarked on my beauty when we were younger. And I knew it; of course I knew it.

“You always just stand there. I hate you for it.”

Perhaps she does. I hate her more.

“Don’t look at me like that. Did you know I’m with child? I’m leaving. I want to love something and I can’t do that here.” Beautiful words, I think, but her face is devoid of all expression.

“Fine,” I say.

“Come with me.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Come, now, Ella. What waits for you here? No one cares for you, even your father won’t look at you. And me, I know nothing of raising a child. You could be a- an aunt. Another mother.”

“It’s your baby, not mine. And Father-”

“He’s in love with his own suffering. Come with me. Haven’t you ever wanted more than this?”

Something more.

When I was little, I wished for someone to see me. Just see me. A mouse, a prince, my father. _Tabitha._ But these words and people, so dear to my heart, couldn’t protect something that wasn’t there.

My sister’s eyes flicker in the light of the dying fire. The room grows cold.

“Fine,” I say. I take a breath. “Let’s go.”


End file.
